Luke
by JackOwens1860
Summary: This story is from an original character's POV. His name is Luke and he has had a hard life in Gotham so far. Forgive him for being strange but certain events have warped his perceptions of the world. They have also made him aware of very unique things about those around him. Going along now.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This story is from an original character's POV. His name is Luke and he has had a hard life in Gotham so far. Forgive him for being strange but certain events have warped his perceptions of the world. They have also made him aware of very unique things about those around him. This is the first chapter, one where he introduces himself and meets Dick for the first time. If it is liked, I may write more. If not, I will get rid of it. Enjoy.**

**Luke**

There's a fight going on at lunch. Some jock is beating on one of the weird kids at our school. Unfortunately I'm the weird kid, not the jock. Unfortunately the jock doesn't know me. Obviously hasn't heard about my violent tendencies, the exclusions from school, the lack of remorse for my crimes. The jock can hit sure, but he can't hurt me. My step-dad used to torture me so a few digs in the ribs isn't up to scratch. My ribs can take the punishment and so can I. When he stops to admire his handiwork, it's suddenly my turn. I don't hesitate. It takes five guys to pull me off him. I'm still covered in his blood when the ambulance arrives to take him to ER. I think I actually managed to puncture his lung with a pencil, but I'm not sure. I hope so; it'd make a great story when they send me back to Juvie. My name's Luke Martin and I think I'm insane.

Everything goes wrong. They don't send me to Juvie again. They send me to doctors for evaluation. I hate doctors. My step-dad used to torture me and they turned a blind eye to it when they patched me. I'd kill all the doctors in the world if I could. Probably be a better place for it too. The doctors ask stupid questions like my age, my height, my favourite colour, TV show and all that other petty crap you write in a journal when you're eight. Stupid questions deserve lies. So I just lie my ass off. I'm a Martian. I like drowning monkeys. I met Jesus in MacDonald's. My mom eats live crickets. Honestly, I just want another stint in Juvie. The jock I beat half-to-death is fine physically. I've mellowed out a little. We should just do the bars and jumpsuit thing, let me get molested by the guards like in Sleepers and put me down like a sick puppy. Because that's what I am, a sick puppy. I'm all cute and pretty on the outside, but I bite and I maim. I'm black and evil on the inside. No doubt about it; I'm a really fucking sick puppy.

Because I'm so sick in the head, apparently that makes me not insane. Obviously psychiatry isn't what it used to be. They used to lobotomise you if you went to the pharmacy complaining of a headache; now they just give you drugs to take the edge off. I miss the Dark Ages. Never mind, at least I get to go to Juvie for a while. Except I don't get to go to Juvie. According to my child advocate - a guy I think would like to see me naked - all charges should be dismissed on account of my horrific upbringing. I thought he was clutching at some really thin straws with that angle, but the judge bought it. So I go into foster care while my step-dad gets arrested for abuse. They are going to hate me. I spend two months in one place, pretending to be perfectly happy and hoping it tricks them into a false sense of security. I think I'd like to kill their cat but I don't know how yet. We'll wait and see on that one.

Somehow, my wholesome act is good enough to let me back in mainstream schooling and they enroll me at Bristol Middle School in Gotham City. I don't know how this is going to play out as I sit in the principal's office getting a welcome chat. He says he is aware of my situation and condition. He tells me I'll have a helper to get me settled in and not feel so intimidated by the new surroundings. I'm not really listening though; His head is very round. I keep imagining if I decapitated him whether or not I could ten-pin bowl with it and get a 200+ scorecard. Nah, I don't think so; the blood would gutter it too many times. Eventually, he gets sick of his own voice and introduces my helper.

Apparently this kid's name is Richard Grayson, but everybody calls him Dick. I add another possible handle by not calling him anything. The guy is fourteen like me, but he's clearly a jock. His broad-shouldered physique and the way his clothes hang off it tell me he's highly athletic. I need a pencil. Then he speaks and I get creeped out by his sincerity.

"Hi, nice to meet you."

He offers me his hand, a perfectly tanned specimen that balances strength and approachability without much trouble. He's a nice guy, I can tell. So I take his hand. Amazingly our hands look exactly the same, like someone is just putting theirs together. When I don't reply he gestures at my hair.

"Are you a natural blond?"

"Sometimes. Are you a sadist?"

"No."

"But you know what one is, right?"

"Unfortunately."

"Cool."

I think I've succeeded in scaring him a little, but he's not very expressive anymore. He seems guarded, like he's hiding something. I suddenly find him very interesting. So I change tact. When we're in the corridor, out of earshot of Principal Bowling ball, I apologize.

"Sorry about that remark I made. My head's kind of fucked up, you know? It won't happen again, promise." Dick shakes his head.

"It's cool. I get that things haven't been all that easy for you getting here, so we'll just forget about it. Okay?" The kid offers me his hand again and flashes me another one of his sincere smiles. I know he's hiding something and it's not just from me. I know a good acting job when I see one and Dick has it down cold. I take his hand and shake it firmly before letting go.

"Okay."

Dick and I have all the same classes at the same times on the same days. I shadow him round the whole day, watching him more than any teacher and fine tune my read on his character. He's hiding an injury, but it's not from the football field or the basketball court. The way he's wincing when trying to write with his right hand and keeps gingerly moving his right shoulder says fracture from something hard and heavy, probably a baseball bat. He's had it before too; he hides it too well for this to be his first time. I've had my arm broken twice that way. Another domestic nightmare is always just round the corner in this place. I bet it's his daddy doing the heavy lifting here. At least it's only physical abuse; my stepfather tried to rape me three times last year. He was too drunk to get anywhere though. When he winces again, I put my hand on top of his. He looks startled and I like it.

"You just rest your shoulder, Dick. I got this." I tell him before beginning to take notes on whatever lecture we've been listening to for thirty minutes. Dick doesn't say anything until we're heading home. He walks with me to the edge of the street.

"How'd you know it was my shoulder killing me, not my hand?" He asks a little too seriously for my liking. I don't want a pencil anymore. I think I love Dick. I don't like that either. I shrug my shoulders.

"Lucky guess. You want to copy up my notes tonight on your computer or something?" I say holding my notebook out for him to take. Dick pushes my arm down with his left hand whilst pulling himself closer. He stares at me intently.

"Whatever you think is going on at my house, it's not like that. You understand, Luke?" He's too smart to be a real jock. No real jock would make the connection behind one kind gesture and assume the charity case thought he was getting abused too. That's detective-grade reasoning, the kind that only certain-minded people ever develop to such impressive levels. I shrug my shoulders.

"Whatever. I just want to be friends." I reply glancing down at my notebook, "But if you'd rather not be, I understand." Dick sighs.

"I didn't say that, did I? Thanks for noticing I needed help. Most people just assume I'm dyslexic or something and leave me to it. If the offer still stands, I'd like to borrow your notebook." I bring my head back up and offer him a smile, a real one I think. He sounds tired and a little relieved by what he just said to me. It suggests that he doesn't share his shortcomings with many people and isn't threatened by sharing the information with me. It means he does have REAL secrets to uncover and that I have a REAL chance of doing it. I'm kind of glad they didn't send me to Juvie after all. I just found a new hobby to explore; Richard Grayson's private life. I wonder how many girls can help me. I pass the notebook to him and watch briefly flick through the pages. "Jeez you've got neat handwriting."

"Thanks. So I'll see you tomorrow for first period?"

"You know where to go?"

"English, Room twenty-four, top corridor, East Side, Mr. Brunswick, right?" I have an eidetic memory but rarely use it for anything useful. Usually it just serves as a contents page for a catalogue of traumas and injuries I've sustained in my life since the age of four. Dick looks impressed though and nods in approval.

"That's pretty cool. Thanks again for the loan Luke. I'll give it back to you tomorrow." As he speaks, a very black and very discreet town car pulls up on the corner behind him. When a thin gray man in a thin gray tunic and hat gets out and opens the rear door and Dick goes inside waving at me I start to realize how big my new hobby could potentially be. The old guy gives me a frown, the sort that few people give me if they don't know me at all. Because I look so blond and cute, most people assume I'm as sunny as I appear, but not this man. This man sees something in my eye that doesn't agree with him. He acts as though he understands I'm a threat to his passenger even if he doesn't know why yet. I'd like to gut him slowly and see him frown at me like that afterwards. He offers a polite smile which I don't return. He gets in the car and they drive off.

As I walk down the street to get picked up by my foster father from his garage job, I take the time to study my hands. Normally when I come under pressure or stress, my hands don't shake. It's not a good sign because according to experts it means my body is not venting my anxieties in a normal way and is instead storing them for a violent resolution, something that has happened four times in my life and resulted in surgeries for my victims and a stint in Juvie for me. But they're trembling this time and it weirdly feels good. Meeting Dick made them do this. I guess somewhere inside I want to feel human again and less like a psychopath. This must be my body's way of telling me it wants that too. My name's Luke Martin and I think I might be getting better. We'll just have to see…


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Luke is going to provisionally run for between six and eight chapters. Bruce and others will make an appearance from the third chapter onwards. This chapter is to give a little more information on Luke's home life and his character. It also helps show how unhinged he is and his views on the world. Enjoy.**

**Luke 2**

I'm in Juvie and it's night. All the room should be locked down, but they aren't. I'm being chased by two older kids armed with a shiv and part of a chair leg. They want my blood and I don't really want to part with it. So I'm running down an endless corridor with them howling at me like animals and the threat of a permanent nap keeping my legs from turning to lead. Eventually I reach a dead-end, a door with a deadbolt and no other way to escape. They corner me, moving in for the kill slowly. Both of them are enjoying this and all because I wouldn't play with them. Then the shiv is being wrenched into my stomach and the chair leg is coming down on my head and I wake up.

I want to say it was just a nightmare, something my mind just threw together to fuck me up, but that actually happened to me in there. I spent six weeks in the infirmary and nearly died of blood loss. The two kids, both of them sexual predators of the blond boy variety, got put in lockdown for a week. That really sucked. They kept their distance afterwards though and kept calling me damaged goods. Whatever, just don't try and fuck me up the ass please, one guard made that play already. He got dismissed, a huge rarity in that line of work. There's a knock at my bedroom door and my foster dad's voice on the end of it.

"Luke, it's Charlie. Are you awake?" I rub my eyes and shrug.

"I guess I must be."

"You mind if I come in?"

"No. Go right ahead, Charlie."

He finds me as I left myself last night, lying naked on the bedroom floor with nothing but a blanket to spare my dignity. It's not a shock and he's used to the spectacle. I can't sleep in beds; I'm too used to concrete and floorboards to find anything else comfortable. I'm used to being in confinement or solitary or lying unconscious on the basement floor after a beating and going without even the simplest of luxuries. Clothes chafe and pillows try to swallow my head so I dispense with both. I don't care. I'm happy down here with the dust and the dirt. It feels like home. I look up to find Charlie regarding me with a sympathetic expression.

When I first got here, Charlie gave me that expression too and I nearly broke his jaw. I hate pity and I hate people feeling sorry for me. You deal with your lot in life and you don't complain or cry about it. If you luck out and get a good run, fair play, but don't pity someone else who doesn't get that smooth ride; it makes them feel like they're beneath you. Charlie should've called social services and got me put in Juvie for that display, almost everyone else would have. Linda, his wife, plain-looking bitch, wanted to send me back. Charlie said no. I think he must be fucking crazier than me if he's willing to keep a kid with issues like mine under his roof. Because he didn't red flag it and because he actually does a decent job of taking care of me, I don't take exception to his sympathies anymore. I just let him think I like him. I don't like him or his wife, who I'm pretty sure is fucking his best friend Chuck, but I let them think I do.

"You about ready to get up for school, boy?" He asks crouching down to my level. I stare at his moustache for a few moments, wondering how bad his burns would be if I set fire to it while he slept, before leveling them on his eyes. Charlie's got big green eyes…a lot like Dick's if we're doing a straight-up comparison and they always look hopeful. I don't know what he thinks is going to happen here, but I'm not going to be his kid. I'm nobody's kid and therefore nobody's bitch and that's the way I like it. My step-dad told me my real dad hated me so much that he left my mother when I was only a baby. It was bullshit but I believed him. So now I don't believe or trust anyone's word. Charlie hasn't told me he loves me yet, but I know he does. But when he tells me, I'm going to call him a liar. I might even go for one of those eyes because I can't believe a word anyone says. I don't love anyone…except maybe Dick but even that might be a total lie at the moment. God I'm fucked up. I nod at him.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be down for breakfast in five."

Linda flashes me a smile when I sit down at the kitchen table. It's fake and very obvious to me. She has been giving me them since I got here and I'm pretty sure that's never going to change. Linda is an elementary school teacher in the middle of Gotham and is clearly better at lying to younger kids and retards. I know and can see she's scared of me. Maybe she notices how I look at her and then my knife repeatedly when we're having dinner and then give her a smile. Or maybe it's that she realizes I know about her affair and she's terrified I'll tell Charlie the whole story. She thinks I don't know, but I know she raids my room looking for incriminating evidence or a hidden cache of lethal weapons on an almost daily basis. She's good at putting things back in their place when she's done, but my memory means even a slight variation in how my underwear touch each other alerts me to tampering. I hate her and for so many reasons, some of which might be entirely imaginary. I'd like to force-feed her the cat and watch her choke on its entrails. I smile back.

"Morning Linda. What's on the menu?"

"Waffles okay Honey?" She says showing me the stack of blueberry waffles on the plate. I nod.

"Yes please."

Breakfasts in this household always pass by in superficial conversation and awkward silences. Charlie doesn't hesitate to ask questions but Linda won't speak unless she's prompted. They make a really bad double act and it's another reason I don't like them. Between them they ask about what classes I've got today, what I want for my lunch and if I want to invite Dick over after school to hang out. I answer the first two but leave the last one blank. I don't know enough about him to ask that question and already know the answer so I'll wait until I can read him perfectly. Knowing when he's lying and when he's not is what I need. I've got my foster parents down cold and that only took me an hour so I'd guess another day will see me right. Soon I'll know everything.

Charlie drops me off on his way to work and wishes me good luck like he did the other day. He still means it and I smile at him. Maybe I could fake Linda's suicide for him, snap her neck and then hang her from the ceiling with a confession pinned to her chest. He'd probably appreciate the gesture. I go to English.

Dick isn't here and is apparently off sick. When I ask what's wrong with him, Mr. Brunswick doesn't answer and ignores me. People just don't seem to get it with me. Does this ugly bastard not go to meetings? Does he not know what I've already planned to do to him as soon as this class is over? Never mind. He'll learn why it's not a good idea to fucking ignore me in less than forty minutes.

Second period is Biology. I like biology. I've only just sat down when I see paramedics rushing past the door towards Brunswick's classroom. A few minutes later, those of us who were in English are taken outside and asked some very particular questions by some very stern-looking teachers. They ask us if we saw anyone lurking around the hallway as we left or if we knew of anyone who had a grudge against Mr. Brunswick. We all say no and they let us go back to Biology. Apparently, some senior student found ol' Brunswick lying face down on the classroom floor shortly after his last class ended. The paramedics said that he'd been struck with a blunt object on the back of his head and could've died. The truth is I only hit him hard enough to knock him unconscious and the blunt object was nothing but the bony part of my elbow aimed at the right spot. If I wanted to, I could've killed him. He should just be thankful I wasn't sourer at him or else he'd be in a morgue about now. Don't. Fucking. Ignore. Me.

Today is supposedly a practical lab. We're going to dissect a pig's eyeball with a scalpel. I barely manage to stifle a yawn as the teacher, a fat, middle-aged virgin with thick glasses and a self-aggrandizing air, tells us what components of the eye to identify. Cornea, lens, pupil and all the usual crap get their five minutes of fame as people start to pair up with their lab partners. Since Dick isn't here, I get his lab partner…a girl called Sarah Brinkley. She's blond like me and fairly pretty I guess but has really cold eyes, the kind that say she knows she's pretty and is willing to exploit that to the fullest in order to get what she wants. Before she even opens her mouth, I know she puts out and that she's probably a cheerleader judging from her tight figure and fake friendliness. I'd like to cut open her face and see whether she's plastic all the way through.

Introductions are made, hands are shook and she tells me I'm cute straight away. I bet she's got a boyfriend on the football team…or a string of them on the football team. I wonder if she wants to see me get beaten up by them. When she asks me how I'm getting on at Bristol, I try desperately to not gouge her eye out with the scalpel I'm clenching in my palm. I should really take my meds instead of flushing them down the toilet bowl every day; I might be more even in these situations. Somehow, through no steering of my own, the conversation shifts onto Dick Grayson and I'm suddenly charming.

"We went out for a few months last year." She says after twenty minutes of friendly conversation about him, "He was really nice and funny and great to be with. He used to buy me whatever I wanted at the fair. He could win every one of the carnival games even though most of them were rigged. He was a cool guy." I nod along attempting to remember how to portray sympathy on my face. How does Charlie do it again?

"So why'd you break up with him? Did you not like him anymore or?" I ask to prompt her. Suddenly her expression actually becomes genuine and melancholic. I'm getting excited.

"It wasn't that. He was just…he was never really there, even when he was actually right next to me. He was distant and never seemed to listen to me; he only ever half-heard what I said. Then there were just little things that snowballed. Random cancellations on dates an hour before they were supposed to start and disappearing in the middle of them just happened all the time. Eventually I couldn't take it and I dumped him. He didn't even seem that sad about it all…" She stops and actually wipes away a TEAR before continuing. "It took a while to get over him. Anyway, are you ready to start…?" She can't finish her sentence. Without taking my eyes off her the entire time, I've effortlessly extracted everything of value from the pig's eyeball and neatly laid them on the worktop.

I'm already beginning to get a good idea of what I need to look for by the time the day finally ends. Dick is a popular guy and a natural athlete as I always thought, but he's definitely got a double-life. And it is just the one secret he's keeping, not a whole bunch of them like some of his friends think. Everything I've been told today, about his disappearances from movie theaters and arcades, his late withdrawals from track meets and basketball practice and his random bouts of illness are all connected. They all coincide with events that are happening at the same time but that nobody else is aware of. It's not domestic abuse, but it's definitely not accidental damage he's suffering. Something tells me it all comes from his guardian and the old guy I clocked yesterday. Bruce Wayne is responsible for whatever Dick is secretly doing and that old man is his accomplice in it. When I walk to Charlie's garage for my ride home, I get the ball rolling.

"Dick said I can go hang out at his house this afternoon. Can you drop me off?" I ask. Charlie looks puzzled.

"Aren't his parents taking you?"

"He had to cut away at lunch for a family emergency. He said I could still go round if everything was okay. He said it was. So can you drop me off?" Charlie doesn't exactly buy my lies, but can't disprove them either. He shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't like the idea of you going off on your own, Luke. Are you sure you'll be okay? You've taken your meds this afternoon right?" I nod my head. "You promise to be good for them?" I nod again. He takes a deep breath to reassure himself and nods back, apparently satisfied I won't maim someone tonight. "Okay boy, I'll drop you off. Where is it?"

"Wayne Manor."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: This story is gathering steam now and may turn out to be a long one. I want to continue this fresh approach to reignite my writing and hopefully use the momentum to finish my other projects on this site. Luke and Alfred have another confrontation. Enjoy.**

**Luke 3**

Charlie only drops me off outside the front gates after checking three times that I have a ride home and that Dick definitely said it was okay for me to come over. I tell him whatever he wants to hear until he finally drives off. I was going to cut the brake line on his car this morning. Maybe tomorrow. I've read about this place in local history books and the tourist information centre. There's something beautiful about how stark and lonely this place feels standing here overlooking Gotham. Whoever wants to stay here has to like deathly silence and the shadows. I find the gates locked and buzz the intercom once. I hear a whirr of machinery moving and look up to see a security camera staring back. Then there's a voice coming through the speaker.

"_Can I help you, young man?" _A haughty Englishman asks me and I instantly think of the gray guy from yesterday. I hold down the button to speak.

"I'm here to see Dick. He's got my notebook? I kinda need it back."

"_Are you certain that it cannot wait until tomorrow? Master Dick will be back at school then."_

"So what's wrong with him?"

"_He had a touch of fever this morning, but the antibiotics prescribed seemed to have arrested the symptoms."_

"Why can't I see him?"

"_He's rather embarrassed about the whole affair. I would hope he can trust you to be discreet in this matter."_

"I think I'd like to see him."

"_Well, I'm afraid he is not admitting visitors at this time. You will have to wait until tomorrow."_

"Do you remember me, old man?"

"_You are the blond-haired youth from the other afternoon, are you not?"_

"The one you didn't like too much."

"_I apologize if it seemed that way to you, young man…"_

"My name's Luke. Don't call me 'young man'." I snap.

"_Well, Luke, I will reiterate my earlier statement: Master Dick is NOT admitting visitors today. YOU will have to speak with him TOMORROW. Good day." _The intercom goes dead, but the camera stays on me. I stare at it for the longest time without moving an inch or blinking. The camera lens remains fixed on my face. It's almost like the old guy is trying to stare me out through a camera. I press the intercom button again without taking my eyes off the camera.

"Why don't you come out here and tell me that face to face. You do and I might leave. You don't and I'll stay out here until I freeze to death. Don't think for a single second I won't." I tell him bluntly. It is not a bluff – anybody who looks into my eyes can see that – but I wonder if he's smart enough to realize that too. A couple of minutes pass slowly without reply. Then the intercom crackles into life again and the voice answers in tired defeat.

"_Very well Luke: you may enter."_

The gates swing open and I wander through to the house. When I get there, I find the thin, gray man standing on the steps outside the front doors. He's dressed in a butler's uniform and has my notebook held stiffly in his left hand. I walk straight up to him. When I draw level with him, I stop. He is regarding me with a look of contempt and suspicion far greater than yesterday. I just stare impassively at him until he speaks.

"There was some frightful news on the Gotham Radio Network this afternoon. A Mr. Brunswick of your middle school was hospitalized this morning following an assault by an unknown assailant. They seem to believe it was a disgruntled student." He tells me in a frank tone, one that says he thinks it was me without having to voice his accusations. I gesture at the notebook.

"Did Dick find it useful?" I say. He nods.

"Yes. He found it most useful. You have remarkable penmanship for your age." The old replies passing the notebook to me. I put it in my backpack.

"Thank you. Look can I please just see Dick? He's my only friend here and the only one who would talk to me. Do I look like I want to hurt him?" This begging behaviour causes his face to soften. I think I've won out with my performance.

"Are you taking your medication?" I can't hide my surprise at him coming out with that line. I blink a few times and regain my composure.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your medication, the courses you have been prescribed to curb your psychotic tendencies and other imbalances, have you been taking them?" He asks casually enough like it's not a very personal and private part of my life. The urge to gut him crashes over me like a tidal wave and threatens to carry me along for the ride. I hold firm, barely. There's a two inch shiv in my back pocket that cries at my restraint.

"How do you know about that? A minute ago you didn't even know my name."

"I know who you are, Mr. Martin. The newspapers around this city are largely discreet with such sensitive issues, but the tabloid journalists are not. Your case has been well documented in recent years. Yesterday they published your name and a recent photograph before the papers could be pulled from print. Fortunately for you and your foster family, the papers were recalled before anybody could read them, except here where I order them via special delivery. With the incident at school today however, they will be back in full-force to make pariahs out of you and your foster parents." He pauses to clear his throat before leaning in slightly, "What did the poor man do to warrant such harsh treatment?"

"I didn't do it and you can't prove otherwise." I tell him. The old guy shakes his head.

"If you truly value your friendship with Master Dick, you will not try my patience with such vulgar lies. Have you ever considered that I may be in a position to help you escape your almost certain prosecution by the authorities if were to only tell me the truth of the matter."

"And why would you do something like that? I don't even know your name and I know you wouldn't help a demented freak like me. I can see it in your eyes. You think I'm doomed."

"My name is Alfred Pennyworth and you were not born this way, Mr. Martin. I fully understand the severity of your step-father's behaviour and the impact it has had on your psyche." He says to drive me over the edge. I knock him to the ground with a leg sweep as fluid as a liquid whip and jam my forearm across his throat with just enough restraint to avoid crushing it. I'm boiling over inside and I can't help but spit when I give him my retort.

"You need to stop talking before I garrote you to death with my shoelaces. You know fucking nothing about my childhood or him. You want to save me from a lifetime of prison rape and beatings? Fine, I confess. I knocked that asshole teacher unconscious with my elbow because he ignored me. I don't feel guilty about what I did. I'm not sorry you found out and if he's dumb enough to even look at me funny again, I'll throw him down the stairwell."

I'm knocked on my back so quickly I'm winded. The old man just punked me and I feel cheated. "From that display I would surmise you are not taking your medication and that all therapy you have undertaken has proven ineffective." Pennyworth says watching me from a safe vantage point. "If Master Dick did not find you as fascinating as I do, you would not have gotten this far. Be thankful he likes you. You are the first young offender we have ever admitted on these grounds." He adds as I force myself to my feet. When I turn my head to one side and spit blood, the old man looks concerned. "The reversal was not intended to cause trauma."

"It's not you. Anything sudden tends to set my body off; it's taken one too many knocks over the years to not seep some blood. I'm fine." Well, not fine at all, actually incredibly fucked-up in every department except my looks, but I've caused enough of a scene already. I got so caught up in this guy's accusations that I forgot why I came here in the first place. I still want to know Dick's big secret and I want to know as soon as possible. So I apologize even though I don't mean a word of it. "I'm sorry about lying to you. And I'm sorry about hurting you just now. You're right: my step-dad destroyed any chance I had to be normal and well-adjusted and no amount of therapy has helped me so far. Dick is the only person I've ever tried to connect with and I don't want to ruin it. If you can help me stop these tabloid sensationalists killing my livelihood I'd be grateful, Mr. Pennyworth, really I would."

"I shall speak to Mr. Wayne about the issue as soon as he returns home." The old man tells me as if it's charity time again. I manage to incline my head in something like gratitude but my hand is already closed around the shiv and ready to strike. I measure my words carefully.

"Can I see Dick now?"

"No. You may see him tomorrow or else I shall call the authorities to have you forcibly escorted off the premises. I suggest you take your medication and try to talk about your experiences. Good day." I stop myself lunging for him by squeezing the shiv hard enough to raze my hand and saturate my back pocket in fresh blood. It makes me temporarily bite my tongue and forget the instinct to mutilate. I watch him turn his back and begin to walk back inside the house.

"Will you at least tell him I said 'hi'?" I call before the guy's out of earshot; he ignores me and shuts the door behind him. I take my hand out and inspect the damage. Even though it's badly lacerated and bleeding profusely, I hardly feel a thing. My hand doesn't even register the pain by shaking and is perfectly still. I want to murder Alfred Pennyworth and I want Dick to watch. I collect myself as best I can and begin to walk the nine miles back to the foster house in the suburbs.

I don't think about anything on the journey back except what the real story behind Pennyworth's lies is. Fevers don't come on like that, not in this place. Dick's shoulder and other injuries must be bothering him. The old guy is covering for the kid and protecting the big secret too. He's ex-military for sure, probably SAS or SBS and an officer at that. He's hardened by the same heartaches and pain as I am even if they were delivered in different ways. Mine are all direct while his are indirect, probably from Bruce Wayne. It makes sense and is one of the few things in my head that does. I know I'm refining the search and my read on this situation is getting sharper. I decide when I'm only a couple of miles away from the house that I do love Dick. I also decide I want to help him out. I just need to know how and why I should. When I get inside the house, Charlie goes nuts at my hand.

"Jesus Christ Luke, what the hell happened?" He asks me after I strip off my clothes which are all covered in bloody handprints and coagulated puddles by the time I reach the kitchen. Linda retreats upstairs to be sick while Charlie sticks my hand underneath cold water. I shrug nonchalantly.

"I had an accident."

"What and those people just dropped you on our doorstep?" The man says angrily whilst pressurizing the wound with a gauze pad from their first-aid box. I shake my head.

"I lied to you. I didn't hang out with Dick; I went into the city." Charlie smacks me round the back of the head before he can understand what he's doing. He's pissed at me but instantly regrets it and jerks me flush against his chest, holding me tight.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm just scared for you is all. Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks without letting go. He starts smoothing my hair and I want to laugh. You think after all I've been through and with forty-one stitches in the back of my head, a little smack is going to bother me? I shake my head.

"No, I'm fine Charlie."

"Okay. Okay…." He says finally releasing me and returning to my hand. "Please promise me you won't go off again without telling me boy. I really do want to trust you but you're making it hard work at the moment. Now, are you really taking your meds or not? Tell me straight son." I shake my head.

"Nope I'm not." I wait while he takes a deep, calming breath to steady himself before replying.

"Okay. When was the last time you took them?" The truth is since they released me into Charlie and Linda's care, I haven't taken a single pill in almost nine weeks. They make me drowsy, irritable and very slow. They give me feelings, but not real ones. I'd rather be crazy than a shell with lights.

"A couple of weeks ago." I lie.

"Okay, well, you take some tonight before bed and some more when you wake up and I think both of us would feel a lot better. Will you do that for me please?" Charlie's a good man and he loves me. But I can't reciprocate. I don't like him. I don't like his wife and I hate their cat. There's reasons for her and the cat, but not Charlie. The man has always been good to me and caring and understanding. He buys me my favourite ice-cream and never does my clothes shopping for me. I should love him back, but I can't. I can only think of making him and everyone else around me suffer. I am hoping Dick can change that somehow. I am hoping I can change. Charlie sutures my hand himself and does a good job; he used to be an EMT. I go to bed after swallowing my five types of pills in front of him. I expel them from under my tongue out the bedroom window five minutes later. Then I pull the bedding off the mattress, discard the pillows and my underwear, and go to sleep on the floor.

My name is Luke Martin and I am barely here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Yes, this is really happening. A third update in less than twelve hours. I am really enjoying this story and have nothing but the best to come following this installment. More Luke and Dick.**

**Luke 4**

Old wounds flare up around three in the morning. The bullet scar on my shoulder, a clean through and through job from my step-dad's pistol, feels like it's on fire and likely to burn me up from the inside out. Then there's aching on my knees where he tried to shatter them with steel toe-capped boots. I feel lethargic and vulnerable as I get to my feet. Every step is like a test of wills and a reminder of just how much I have endured. I go downstairs and ransack the medicine cabinet, grabbing ibuprofen and painkillers like they're candy and down them like a five-year-old on a sugar rush. Then I lie on the floor for a while, waiting for my pain to disappear as the drugs take their hold on my brain.

I feel fine after about fifteen minutes and get myself back on my feet. Linda is in the doorway in her dressing gown. I want my shiv but it's up in my room and out of reach. She's holding a blanket in her hands and I know it's meant for me. I put my underwear back on before coming down because I thought I heard her shuffling around; she got a fright last time.

"Hurting again Honey?" She asks and for once meaning it. I shake my head.

"Not anymore Linda. I'm fine."

"Well you look a little cold standing there so here." She drapes the blanket round my shoulders and pulls it into my chest. I am cold I guess so I nod.

"Thanks. I gotta go to bed now. Night." When I go to walk past her, she stops me with her hand. She's got soft hands, gentle too. I would love to just…jeez I don't know…cut her fingers off or something.

"I've got some chamomile tea in the cupboard, honey too. It might help you sleep a little better. Come on, let's have a cup together."

Five minutes and a boiled kettle later, we're sat at the kitchen table stirring honey into cups of sweet-smelling tea. Linda is trying to connect with me. She's tried dozens of times before now, but I don't take the bait, or at least I haven't until now. She's afraid of me because she knows I feel nothing for her or Charlie. She's afraid that one night I'll just kill them both and she won't see it coming. What does she expect me to do? I can't entertain myself with ideas of letting her live comfortably under the same roof as me. I need her to be afraid of me. Because I am lethal and I am crazy and I am indifferent. But I sip the tea and I let her think for just a moment that we can connect.

"How's your tea?" She asks me to break the awkward silence of our usual exchanges. I shrug.

"It's okay."

"Your mom ever make tea for you like this?"

"She wasn't allowed. _He_ wouldn't let her."

"Are all those scars from him?" She asks gesturing to no part of my torso in particular. I'm just a road map of cigarette burns, knife wounds, scarring mounds and the other remnants of my violent past. I don't notice them anymore even if I remember the story of each single one. I shake my head.

"Nope. I'm responsible for a few of them. Suicide attempts mostly. These knife wounds here," I tell her circling the cluster of scars near my sternum, "These were me trying to stab myself in the heart. I managed to puncture a lung, but nothing else." They're not lies or even exaggerations; everything I tell her is the truth. She has no words for most of it and that's fine by me. We drink the rest of our tea in silence. When I leave to go to bed, she has the courage to kiss my cheek and hug me gingerly. She's bold, I'll give her that.

"You'll be okay Honey. Just give it a little more time." She says before I disappear back into the dark. I will NEVER be okay even if I had forever…and I don't.

Charlie makes sure I swallow the pills before school, every one individually and he checks underneath my tongue. He isn't taking any chances now. I don't feel great as he drops me off, sort of hazy and funny inside. When I go to gym class for first period, Dick's already in the locker room but he isn't getting changed. He's sat on the bench surrounded by big, strong-looking jocks, the kind I'm infamous for sending to the emergency room. They're talking and laughing and I keep my distance. I'm fumbling through my gym clothes and not really getting anywhere when Dick comes over.

"Hey Luke." He says leaning against the row of lockers. He smiles at me in a way that I can't respond to. It's not because I don't want to, but because with the drugs in my system I'm incapable of it. I hate myself being this way. I nod.

"Hi Dick."

"How was yesterday?"

"Good thanks. How are you? You're better now?"

"Yeah lots, but I can't do Gym with my shoulder like it is. It kinda sucks." He says before seeming to notice my difficulties with my gym shorts. "Are you okay? You seem a little spacey." I go to answer before I have an idea. I cut away to the stalls and hunch myself over a sink. I ram two fingers down my throat and instinctively vomit up the contents of my stomach. I count four partially dissolved pills amongst the half-digested porridge oats and toast before washing them into oblivion. It's not all of them, but it's better than nothing. I take a few moments and feel myself thinking about hacking Brunswick's face off with a lot more intention and clarity. I still feel slow and addled, but capable. When I return to the locker room, Dick is still waiting for me. "You alright?" I manage a smile.

"Never better."

Dodge ball on pills is not great. I get hit with every ball going and am too slow to get off court before getting pummeled again. Dick is watching from the bleachers and trying to be supportive. It means something. After an hour of what would be torture for most kids but amounted to little more than foreplay for me, it's shower time.

One of the jocks, Gordy Howe, gets in my face back in the locker room. He's a big bastard and very heavily muscled, must outweigh me by nearly seventy pounds. He slams me against the lockers to bring everyone in the place swarming on our location. They form the usual ring of steel around us and begin whooping and jeering like a pack of retarded monkeys as Gordy threatens to strip me naked and parade me around the school. Dick pushes himself to the front and tries to get between us only to be dragged back by four of Gordy's admirers. I think they just hurt his shoulder and I've just about had enough.

I only do one thing, but it's the only thing I need to do. I side-step to his left and jam my heel into the back of his right knee with enough power to bring him to the floor. Before he can try to move I swivel my heel further into the joint and bring my mouth to his ear. "You make one stupid move and I will permanently damage all the ligaments in your knee. You can say goodbye to your football scholarship and professional playing career if I do. You call it quits now and then attack when I let you go and you can go the rest of the life without your eyes because I will gouge them out while you sleep. We clear Gordy?" I whisper. Gordy nods.

"I'm not going anywhere near you ever again, I swear." He answers. I'm not convinced. I know his type. The only reason the others left me alone is because I scarred them for life; I should just do the same to this asshole. It's not like I care.

"Yeah well, let's make sure huh?" I'm about to tear his ligaments when Dick's hand falls on my shoulder. He looks at me with pleading eyes full of hope like Charlie's that I won't make things worse for myself.

"Just let him go, Luke. You don't need this on your third day. Let's go, come on." He says. He knows what I'm about to do and how damaging the injury can be. I relent. The crowd goes quiet and then disperses. Somewhere along the way, Gordy fades into the ether with the rest of them. The drugs have almost totally worn off now and I'm lucidly myself again. I turn to Dick.

"Did they make it worse?" I ask pointing to his shoulder. He shakes his head. I feel relief and never want the sensation to end. I nod before gesturing to the showers, "I'll go cool off. Wait for me?"

"Sure thing."

Everyone gives me a wide berth for the rest of the morning. By the time lunch comes around, they all ease up a little and draw back in. Gordy offers me and Dick a place at his table in the cafeteria, but Dick politely declines for us both. He wants to talk to me in private. We head for the basketball courts near the front gate.

"Alfred told me you two had a meeting the other day." He starts before reluctantly adding, "He said it didn't go too well."

"Hey look I apologized to him. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I was concerned. I'm sorry." I respond with the utmost sincerity. Dick sighs.

"He told me about your upbringing." He says before shaking his head. "I'm kind of not sure what I can and can't say to you right now. I mean, he says you shanked a kid in Juvie for taking the last tapioca pudding. He said that kid nearly died of internal bleeding and you just…demanded your pudding." That's a little over the top; I didn't shank the kid. I just beat him unconscious with my lunch tray and it was chocolate not tapioca pudding. I fucking hate tapioca.

"I'm not naturally a bad kid, Dick. My step-dad just made me seem that way. I've just never known any other way to be. I'm trying though. I really am trying to change. If you hadn't been there today, I would've just crushed Gordy's kneecap like my step-dad did to me, but you stopped me. You said don't and I listened. I never used to listen, but now I do. So I can change, right?" I'm skirting close to the edge here. That little speech is close to the truth, but not quite. I love Dick and I want to know his secret. Do I want to be normal? If it means getting closer to him I'll damn sure try. I'm not happy with who I am, no, but I'm not just going to give up what I've got for the chance of being accepted. This puzzle of what Dick's hiding can't be solved without my mind's sharpness and that razor's edge of thinking comes from being an abused, violent kid with some severe attachment issues.

"I know you're trying Luke. I just don't know how to help you. I've never…met anyone like you who wasn't in a straightjacket or behind bars." I take hold of his hand with both of mine and squeeze it gently. He gives me his undivided attention.

"Just be my friend, Dick. I'm not the possessive kind or the needy kind of loser you might find stalking you at night. I just want to have someone I can talk to and someone I can connect with. I don't have to see you every day to function and I don't want you to try and understand what makes me tick. I don't want you to help me; I just want a friend. I'd beg you if I was pathetic enough, but I'll just ask you: please be my friend?" I let him hand go and let mine retreat back into my jacket pockets. I wait while he considers. He mulls it over for a long time. I start to grow convinced I'm about to suffer rejection.

Then he opens his mouth to reply and my heart skips a step with his answer.

Everything changes.

**Author's Note: Bruce is coming next!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Luke is changing and Bruce meets him for the first time. It does not go well.**

**Luke 5**

My name is Luke Martin and I think this is what you call acceptance. It's been almost a month since Dick said he'd be my friend for as long as I needed one. Since that first few days of high drama, I've mellowed out and am more or less on an even keel. I'm not normal by a long way, but I can pass for it easier than ever before in my life. Gordy Howe and his friends haven't tried to shake me up since that day in the locker room and could be considered friends as well if eating lunch and hanging out in-between classes together counts.

I don't understand what's really going on inside my head right now. Ideas about everything I believe or don't, the aspects of me that are like concrete foundations, are starting to loosen. My bloodlust and desire to hurt those around me is still there but weak. Yesterday I let the cat sit on my chest when I was lying on the couch and I stroked it. I stroked it. Why did I let it do that to me? I think I like cats now, but it's wrong because I can't like anything, right? But I love Dick and…I like the cat? It makes me feel strange. Charlie and Linda look at me differently and I can tell they like it. The awkward silences at mealtimes are less pronounced and I hear most of what they're saying instead of drifting into fantasy. They tell me they're proud of me and what I'm doing. It's weird to be accepted. I've never had it before and I'm struggling to deal with people's expectations. A lot of the time I feel ill and unbalanced even without the pills which I'm taking at least once a week now. I thought I was crazy for the longest time and sick in the head, but now it's all up in the air. It's better this way.

No matter how messed up my head is getting, I have witnessed all the things that Sarah Brinkley told me about with Dick. We went to the movies a couple of weeks ago and he went to use the bathroom halfway through the picture. He never came back. When I called him later that night, he apologized and said a family emergency had come up. When I asked him what it was, he hesitated to answer before saying it was too personal to say over the phone. That was an obvious lie, but one I let slide. It helps with the mystery. A week before that, we'd arranged to go fly fishing with Gordy and a few others down at the creek. We all waited an hour for him to show and then I got the text message that said he had to cancel on us. During the last four weeks, he's been absent from school three times.

He has scars too, unexplained injuries that remind me of my defensive wounds and fighting. Sometimes he's distant and not really there when I talk to him like he's thinking about something else that's bigger than school life or being a teenager. It's either that or PTSD and maybe both at once. If it's not domestic abuse then it's something worse. I don't think he's been molested, but I'm sure people have tried it on with him in the past. Sometimes I hear him crying in one of the bathroom stalls. It's only happened twice and he doesn't know I heard anything at all. It makes me realize that he's been seriously hurt before and in almost all the same ways I have, except he didn't turn into me. The only way that is even possible is if there are people stopping him from going over the edge. Bruce and Alfred are those people making him fight to hold on to what makes him human, but they're also not protecting him from whatever's hurting him. His trauma hasn't ended like mine; it's continuous and happening even now.

He hides the pain very well, but I can see through the act. Finally, after weeks of being good and level and even, Dick invites me over to hang out. We're picked up from school by Pennyworth and he reluctantly opens the rear door for me. We lock eyes for a few moments and he tries to read my intentions. I break contact and blank him while getting in. When he shuts the door, he stands looking at me through the window for another few seconds before returning to the driver's seat. I still haven't changed my opinion on the old man; there's a fishing knife in my backpack.

We get to the house and go straight to Dick's room. Pennyworth says that dinner will be served at seven. When we get there, I'm expecting to play video games or watch movies or any of the stuff that we've done before, but it's different. He throws me some workout gear, shorts and T-shirt, and begins putting on his own, a red and green singlet with glitter.

"What are we doing Dick?" I ask without making a move to change. He's already down to his underwear when he replies.

"We're going to go to the gym and I'm going to teach you to tumble." He says before thumbing down his boxers and pulling on the singlet. "I figured you might like that. You know, because it's different." I didn't hear the last thing he said; I was still thinking about how he looked naked. He's prettier than me. He's…beautiful. I must have been staring for a while because he asks me if I'm okay. I nod.

"Yeah, give me a minute."

I'd heard the stories about Dick's life in the circus. I've read the news articles about his parents' deaths and I've seen the YouTube videos of the Flying Graysons in action. But I've never seen him as an acrobat until now. He cartwheels, flips and spins across the mats like something I've only seen in comic books, but there's no sense of urgency or need to impress. He moves fluidly but seems to go in slow motion so I can see every position and stance he transitions through to get to the next. He wants me to learn and I want to let him teach me. I'd love to move like he does.

I pick up the basics quickly enough. I manage some forward rolls and then backward rolls before getting up to diving forward rolls and little combinations of the three. Dick coaches me every step of the way. He critiques my form and technique, but I don't mind him doing it. This is the boy I love after all and not some uppity English teacher or toffee-nosed servant; he likes me. He actually likes me. _I_ like that. A couple of hours later, we're lying on our backs and staring at the ceiling. I'm exhausted and soaked in sweat, but I'm happy. I feel connected to him. I feel human.

"I don't normally teach people this stuff…" Dick says slowly. He's hesitating and I don't know why. We look other at one another and he smiles before finishing his thought, "But you're really good at it. I'm glad you came over." I know that Dick doesn't love me like I love him and he never will. I'm okay with that. But he does want to let me in. Just from the way I look at him he can tell I understand him better than most. He can't see my adoration for him, but he's not supposed to. That's _my_ secret. But he wants someone to confide in. I shrug.

"I wouldn't have said no; this is the first invite I've had since I was seven. No-one wanted to play with me anymore."

"You're a good guy Luke. Whatever happened in the past…" I wait for him to finish that sentence but he doesn't. We both hear the footsteps and know this conversation is no longer private. When we look up, we see Bruce Wayne ambling towards us like a grizzly bear on juice. He's bigger than I remember ever seeing him on TV and far more composed and serious than his playboy lifestyle would suggest he was capable of. He's wearing a business suit and tie, both of them dark and looks relaxed in the corporate magnate role. Immediately, I know something is off about him, more so than the butler or Dick. His eyes just don't fit him. It's like there's somebody else inside peering out of the puppet and pulling strings. For the first time in a long while, I'm scared. It strangely feels good to fear again. We get up to greet him.

His bemused expression morphs into a thin smile. It is not welcoming. "Enjoying yourselves boys?" He asks us in a voice that is too restrained and cool for someone of his reputation. I soon understand that he is not trying to hide himself but letting me know that he is dangerous too. He levels his gaze on me. "You must be Luke. Dick has told me so much about you. I'm pleased to meet you." He informs me whilst extending a hand. I'm scared of letting him touch my hand; I think he might crush it. I can't let him know so I force the anxiety down and bite the bullet. His hand swallows mine. I keep my eyes on his.

"It's nice to meet you Mr. Wayne. Thank you for your help earlier with the media." I say. He inclines his head in appreciation.

"Bruce what's he talking about?" Dick says in something approaching exasperation. I jerk my head over to look at him; he looks bewildered by my statement. Did Alfred forget that part of the story? "What did you do?"

"We'll talk about it later." The man tells him whilst releasing my hand. "Right now it looks like you two need a shower. We'll talk more at dinner but I just thought it would be nice if I met your friend before then. Size him up, so to speak." He nods at us both, casts one last look over me and then turns his back and leaves with the confidence and superiority of a king…or a dictator. What do I think of Bruce Wayne? I think he likes having Dick under his thumb and keeping him in the dark. I think he enjoys manipulating him. That's what I think and I also think he knows I can't do anything about it, not to him. Once he's gone, Dick turns to me.

"What did you mean Luke? What did he do for you?" He's a little confused by what just happened between me and his guardian, but I'm not. Bruce wanted to know what he was dealing with. I could tell he thought I was dangerous, but I also saw he knew I was afraid of him. But that's a good thing. If he thinks I'm human then he'll think that maybe I'm not a monster and he'll let me hang out here again. I pat him on the back.

"The tabloids in this city were going to bury me and my foster parents. Mr. Wayne helped me out by cancelling the exclusive. That's all." Dick frowns at me.

"Why didn't he tell you to call him Bruce? He tells all my other friends to call him Bruce. He didn't do it with you." I think the answer's obvious, but I try to be subtle.

"I don't think he likes me all that much." I say. Dick puts his hand on my arm.

"Don't take it like that. Bruce is a nice guy; he just sees danger round every corner. Come on, let's go shower."

I come back from my shower still just in my towel and find Dick in the same position when I enter his room. He sees my scars, but he REALLY sees them this time. His eyes widen in shock and then relax. Normally in the locker room he's too busy worrying about hiding his own to see mine and the crowds and noise carpet us both in obscurity. He watches me as I gather my clothes from the chair I left them on and then speaks.

"You want to borrow some of my underwear? It's fresh you know so you don't have to worry."

"Yeah if you can spare some." He hands me a pair in silence and waits for me to sit down before speaking again.

"Do you ache a lot of mornings too?" He asks with a knowing smile. I smile back.

"You know what it's like huh?" I say putting on the underwear with my towel still in place. Dick nods.

"I know it's annoying as hell to wake up and feel like an old man." He tells me whilst rubbing his injured shoulder with a wince. I take note.

"With arthritis right?" I say hitching up my jeans and indicating his lethargic movements. He chuckles briefly and nods. "So how did you earn your badges of honor?" I inquire to make him frown.

"What do you mean?"

"Your scars. In Juvie we call them badges of honor. How'd you get them?" I say joining him on the edge of his bed. He's not uncomfortable with me being this close to him anymore; he trusts me not to hurt him. I'd never hurt Dick. I love Dick because he's like me and because he's better than me. I know he won't tell me the stories behind the wounds, but I know he'll think about it.

"I wish I could tell you, but I can't Luke." He says simply but is suddenly very emotional. I see him trying to suppress tears and know I've triggered something entirely by accident. I didn't mean to do it and I feel bad. It feels good to be remorseful. Dick makes me feel human, alive and human in a way that everybody else has failed to. It's because he's so emotional and I'm not. It's drawing me to him. His secret must be killing him to provoke this kind of reaction without any warning. I shake my head.

"It's no big deal. I'm sorry I asked. It's really none of my business."

"It's not your fault." Dick says composing himself, "Sometimes I can't stop it coming on like that." He looks directly into my eyes, "Some secrets are hard to keep hidden, you know?" I nod.

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Why don't you get some pants on and we'll play video games for a while until it leaves you alone. Sound good?" I say clapping him on the back. He smiles at me. He's got nice teeth.

"Thanks Luke." When he leans over I resist the urge to jerk away and am astounded when he hugs me briefly. "You're a good guy, really." I feel my heartbeat quicken in that fleeting moment his chest is pressed against mine and the heat of his cheek is against mine. I feel connected and more alive in that instance than I have ever been in my entire life. For that one second of contact, I feel more than I have in years. It's a platonic hug, one without any romantic attachment to it, but it feels like it's as deep. When his skin leaves mine, I can't utter a word. I just nod and we change in silence. I see him naked again. He's still beautiful.

We start to play video games and everything feels better. My name is Luke Martin and this is Richard Grayson…

My best friend.

**Author's Note: Next up, Dinner with Bruce!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Here is Dinner. See what you think. Enjoy.**

**Luke 6**

I was wrong. Wayne doesn't enjoy controlling Dick or keeping him in the dark. He is a manipulator, but he doesn't think he has a choice. Sitting here having dinner with him and Dick makes it obvious I got the wrong end of the stick. He is dangerous though, no doubt about that and he believes the same of me, still. As I read him more, my fear subsides because I can see Dick is his biggest weakness. We have common ground. He loves Dick in a different way to me, but he doesn't abuse him like I once thought. But he is pressuring him to keep his secrets. Bruce Wayne definitely has some secrets of own and, judging from the way he let me see what lurks beneath the surface, it's even bigger than Dick's and he's willing to go some lengths to keep it. All this I get without him saying a word; gestures always tell more than words ever could. I drop my fork again. That's the five time in ten minutes. It's not because I'm nervous but because my hand is misreading the signals from my brain. Wayne is the first to say something.

"Are you alright Luke?" He asks genially as I repeatedly flex my hand in an effort to get it under control. I nod without looking at him.

"Yeah, it's just a bad connection is all. Sometimes my hand gets the message wrong."

"Do you know what causes it?" He says sounding like he's fishing for useful information on my shortcomings. I let my eyes meet his and I smile.

"Oh nothing worth mentioning Mr. Wayne; just my step-father beating me over the head with a metal rod for a couple of days, one summer. It was a magical weekend that left me with a slight bit of brain damage but a lot of memories." I reply to bring the deathly quiet roaring back into the room. Wayne isn't rattled by the story but does hold up a hand in mute apology. That's interesting. Dick kills the silence again.

"Did you ever find out why he hated you so much Luke?" I shift my gaze from Wayne to Dick and shake my head.

"No and I don't really want to know either. It just happened and now it's over and I want it to stay that way." I say with an air of finality whilst picking my fork back up to finish my starter.

"How did you find the fishcakes Luke? Were they to your liking?" Wayne asks once his servant has cleared away the crockery. He poses the question innocently enough, but his eyes are always calculating something when they look at me. I smile.

"They were very nice, thank you. Alfred is a really good chef." I say hoping the butler heard my praise and how insincere it was. Wayne nods in satisfaction at my response and leans forward in his seat.

"Oh he certainly is. What about your foster parents? Do they like to cook?"

"Sometimes they do. They can't match Alfred though. You're very lucky." Even though I'm sat right next to Dick at the table, it feels like there's just Bruce Wayne and me in the room. This feels not like an interrogation but some kind of screening. I doubt he does this to Dick's other friends when they come here for the first time, but I can't be sure. He seems very careful and measured in what he's saying.

"Well I'm sure your foster parents feel lucky having you too Luke. You're very polite." Wayne tells me in the same genial and generic tone he's been using all night. I'm positive he doesn't really believe what he's just told me and is basically just trying to push my buttons to see if I'll crack like I did with Pennyworth that day. He's looking for trigger words. He took a good guess by mentioning Charlie and Linda. I'm calm though and very much in control. I shouldn't be but I am. I shrug.

"I just want to make a good impression. Dick says you're a nice guy but I know you've got high expectations for him. You want to be sure he's hanging around with the right sort of people, right?" Wayne's eyes flicker. It suggests he's unlocked or pieced out some hunch or suspicion about me. He nods in agreement and steeples his fingers together as Alfred returns with the lobster main course.

"I'm sure Charlie and Linda feel the same about you Luke; they certainly would not want you associating with unscrupulous characters." He tells me as the servant lays a lobster and salad at his place. I'm an unscrupulous character now? I'm not even sure what qualifies you for such a lofty-sounding label but apparently I've got the right attributes for Wayne to tar me with it. I lean forward too.

"Why might that be?" I ask. He shrugs.

"You've been in trouble before for such friendships. I believe a total of four stints in juvenile detention centers prove you have not always been successful in your choice of companion."

"Well I think with Dick I'll do just fine from now on."

"I'd second that." Dick says wading into the tense atmosphere to take my side. I feel a lot better now that I'm not the only one who thinks this is not as hospitable a dinner as I was expecting. I was expecting him to give me a few hard stares and a little quizzing over my past, but not this subtle attack on my suitability as Dick's friend through veiled remarks on my failings in life. I want to cut out his tongue but know I can't if I want Dick to carry on supporting me. So I have to let him speak again. Before he does, I smile in gratitude at Dick who returns the favor.

"Oh I don't deny that everyone, regardless of crime, is entitled to a second chance, but four is a somewhat less reasonable. It shows a clear pattern of reoffending that is not easily broken."

"Bruce I think you're being a little harsh; Luke's only fourteen, like me? It's not like he's a career criminal or something." Even though Dick is my friend I'm still surprised he's arguing against his guardian on my behalf. Nobody usually ever argues for me, I have to make a stand or do something on my own. I let it just become another reason I love him. I check Wayne's reaction; he almost looks amused. I don't like it.

"That's a very valid point Dick. I'm sorry if I seemed judgmental Luke. I'm just…" He pauses and for just a moment, his face changes and he looks at Dick in the oddest way before finishing his sentence. "very protective of him." I think I just saw fear in his eyes and I don't know how I managed to trigger it. Whatever it was, it disappears as quickly as it came and without a lingering trace. I look for Dick's reaction; he looks a little astonished by his guardian's last remark. It seems Wayne does not admit having those kinds of feelings very often. It just highlights that Dick is the man's weakness. By now, all of us have lobsters before us. We begin to eat.

For a while, the conversation isn't tense or directed towards my past or character defects. We manage to talk civilly about hobbies, sports, the weather and a little bit of Gotham history that almost carries us through to dessert, but not quite. Wayne is still analyzing me but in an even more imperceptible way. Then it all comes full circle.

"Dick, do you remember that article in the newspaper a few weeks ago, the one about your English teacher, Mr. Brunswick?"

"About him being attacked at school?" Dick says finishing his last mouthful of salad. He has amazing table manners and is so neat that I'm envious.

"Yes. I'm curious to know if anyone has found the culprit."

"Why are you so sure it was just one person?" I interrupt before Dick can say anymore on the matter. Wayne knows it was me. He knows and Pennyworth told him. Well, with his threatening he had to tell the master of the house or else I'd be back in care or worse. I feel dumb for making such an obvious statement and can't help but frown at my own slow wit.

"The evidence just points to it more, according to the media reports. They are also convinced it was someone short of stature, perhaps a woman, but also that the strength required to render a man of Brunswick's size unconscious suggest the attacker was male. It's all purely guesswork at this stage: the man himself did not see his assailant, just a pair of sneakers before he lost consciousness." Bruce informs us in a very matter-of-fact tone. He shrugs. "It's not very much to go on I know, but I know most students at your school will have formed their own theories. Any notable suggestions?" Dick rolls his eyes and sighs.

"The usual: government cover-up, spy for the Chinese, aliens, jilted lover, double-crossed gangster and just crap."

"But nobody has pointed the finger?"

"I would've thought a man as important as you would have better things to do with your time than play school detective in an incident that has nothing to do with you." I offer whilst pushing away my half-eaten lobster. Both of them look at me.

"Anything to do with Dick's safety has something to do with me Luke. It's part of being a parent. I don't want him going to a school with an unhinged lunatic roaming the hallways and attacking without provocation. I want him to be safe." I'm unhinged and crazy am I? That's how it used to be, but now I'm different. That's why I switch tact and just tackle this head-on.

"We both know you're talking about me. We might all know you're talking about me. So let's stop pretending. What do you want me to say? Do you want a confession?" I ask as Pennyworth removes my plate. The old man carries on with his duties like nothing is happening. Wayne shrugs his shoulders.

"I'd just like you to be honest with me. I'm still trying to understand what your intentions are and I must say that so far your behaviour concerns me." I shake my head.

"But I haven't done anything yet."

"That's exactly why. I've read the reports about you from the Rosewood Juvenile Detention Centre. I've also read the report about your stay in the Blackgate Juvenile Wing. All of them say you are just as likely to lose your temper and assault someone in a flash as you are to be placid for a month. Sometimes there are provocations such as Alfred's mention of your step-father and sometimes they are no reasons for your violence. You simply act. And sometimes you don't. Take the incident in Rosewood. After you were hospitalized following the attack from two other offenders, you did nothing for six weeks after your release from the infirmary. You did not speak to or engage them at all, even when they provoked you. Then the staff walked into the recreation room and found both of them with shards of glass embedded in their faces and stomachs." I don't like strangers prying into my private life. He must have some pretty weighty connections to get access to my files; they're held under lock and key because of the content. Someone once read it and needed therapy after. He must be used to my kind of sob story in this city. I thought I was one of a kind. It seems I was wrong. Dick is frowning at me and I feel the walls closing in. I compose myself.

"There was never any proof that was me." I say and am correct. There isn't any evidence whatsoever. I did do that to them, but I had to. They fucking tried to kill me after trying to rape me.

"I know it was you. So did the staff. They just couldn't prove anything. The point is you are wildly unpredictable in your actions and liable to snap without warning. I will admit, since Dick became your friend, you have not been so problematic for the school or its faculty, but that means little. It's only been four weeks of good behaviour and I believe your record is two months and one day." Wayne retorts and I think about jamming my fork in his eye and seeing exactly how smug he'd be after that. My anger's starting to flare up because of this rich snob and I feel like I'm slipping too easily. I try to hold myself together or I will jump over the table and make a play for his jugular vein.

"Why don't you just tell me that I can't be Dick's friend and to leave? Why couldn't you just tell me that at the start?" I say as calmly as possible. It comes out as spiteful. Wayne shrugs and I am one wrong word away from trying to slash his throat.

"Because this is not a dictatorship and Dick is free to make his own decisions. I just wanted to draw his attentions to certain facts before he made a choice." I'm halfway out my chair before I feel Dick's hand clamp down on my arm and sit me back down. He smiles at me and nods.

"I think I've heard enough Bruce." Dick tells his guardian whilst shaking his head. "What you did wasn't fair. Luke's childhood was awful and how he is now isn't his fault. He can change and he has changed for the better. I'm not stupid either. I know you think he's dangerous and I know you think he might hurt me, but I'm willing to take a chance on him. He can be nice if you just don't antagonize him, like you've been doing all night. I want him to have a chance at a normal life and that always starts by taking a leap of faith. He's my friend and it's staying that way. Understand?"

"Dick I'm trying to be practical. Just because he's been nice to you so far is no reason to assume he won't suddenly…"

"How about you stop talking about him like he's not here or me for that matter when you talk to him? He's had a bad life but he's NOT a bad person, not deep down. I brought him here hoping you could see that too. Seeing as you can't, I don't think I'd want him coming here again. You're coming across as obsessive and it isn't flattering." Dick says fiercely whilst getting to his feet. "May we be excused?" Wayne's jaw is clenched tight and he seems ready to explode himself. I don't think he expected that response from his ward. I didn't either. I'm still reeling from how he stopped me doing something stupid with a smile. Bruce manages to nod.

"You're excused." Dick gestures for me to join him. I get to my feet and lock eyes with Wayne; his expression says that he is far from beaten on the issue and will find some way to get rid of me. My expression tells him nothing. I am calm again, but feeling very satisfied with the outcome. I smile politely at him.

"Thank you for dinner Mr. Wayne."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: This is the crossroads of this story. I have two plans for how it will pan out and which one I choose largely depends on what Dick does at the conclusion of this chapter. What do you think? Does he or doesn't he? Enjoy.**

**Luke 7**

It's been almost a fortnight since my dinner at Wayne Manor. I haven't been back since and I don't really feel the need to butt heads with Wayne again either. The guy doesn't like me at all, thinks I'm going to hurt his precious little boy and I don't like people dredging up my past. It almost seemed like he thought I should have the cliff notes of my worst moments on Earth tattooed on my skin like a brand. The truth is though I'm not going to hurt Dick. The truth is my past isn't all I am or ever will be. My issues and my head problems and my lack of remorse for the things I have done and inflicted on other people is something I can deal with. I haven't thought about hurting Charlie or Linda for almost a week and with the cat it's even longer. I like it when he sits on my chest and purrs. It tickles.

School is easy enough. Brunswick has been back teaching for almost a week and still has no idea who knocked him for six last month. I like the way he looks at me and sees nothing but another student. He doesn't ignore me either and in fact thinks I'm brilliant, especially praising my creative writing assignment. He called it 'darkly fascinating' but seemed to miss the fact it was basically a thinly veiled account of what happened to him and why. I thought that was ironic too and smiled to myself on the way home. The rest of my studies, Math, Science, and Geography, all of them aren't a challenge either. I can read and dissect all my teachers from top to bottom and it's enough to smooth the ride further. I like school now, even Gym.

Dick's secret and my interest in uncovering it is starting to wane as I grow closer to him. I'm starting to wonder whether I care about solving the puzzle at all because life is getting so comfortable. I slept in a bed last night for the first time since I was eight. It was weird but I liked it. I still love Dick, but I don't feel drawn to him for his mysterious behaviour anymore. I like the way he looks at me and the way he talks to me more than anything else. As pretty as he looks and as athletic as his body is, it's the way he treats me that draws me in now. I guess it's better this way because it means I'm acting nice in an effort to be treated in the same way rather than just trying to exploit someone's trust for information. I feel more and am definitely less insane than I was a few months ago. It's also down to the pills.

I'm on a new treatment that involves less of them and less side effects. I don't feel drowsy or slow on whatever they are but I do think they increase my ability to experience positive emotions. I definitely feel happier, but I'm struggling to tell if it's manufactured or not. Maybe it doesn't matter anymore. When I feel this normal and together what does anything matter anymore? My name is Luke Martin and I am somebody else. I like it…

And I don't.

I feel too level and too ordinary. I don't have an edge anymore, a weapon to protect and defend myself with against the world. I don't feel dangerous and it's not good for my confidence. Without the safety of knowing I could attack and kill anyone if I needed to, I feel weak. Describing it to anyone else is tantamount to suicide because they'll definitely send me back to a hospital but my panic is growing with every day that passes where I don't have violent thoughts and the flashbacks to my abuse stay exactly the same. So far I'm keeping myself together, but without the thirst for violence, my defense against the trauma I suffered is cracking. I can't explain how it feels to have built a wall of concrete to keep demons at bay only to find the structure is unsound. I've never really been without my urges to harm so I feel naked. This is what they call being a hypocrite. I know I can't have it both ways and it I know it's impossible to expect the two sides to co-exist when they can't and won't. I can either commit to changing myself or I can go back to how I've survived for the last four or five years, but I have to make a choice. I thought I'd already made it, but I haven't.

Dick's sleeping over at my house for the first time tonight. We go straight from school to Charlie's garage and get driven back to the house. Both Charlie and Linda fall for Dick and his charm immediately which is kind of flattering if I'm honest; it means they approve of him and my choice of him as a friend. Even the cat takes a shine to Dick, brushing up against his legs repeatedly before dinner's served. They haven't gone all out to impress him, which is good because if they had, I think I would just loathe them all over again. Dinner is a one course meal, spaghetti carbonara, and conversation is a one topic affair: being Bruce Wayne's ward.

Charlie and Linda ask the typical ream of questions about what they imagine life with a billionaire would be like and Dick is polite in answering them. He looks like he's dealt with these kinds of inquisitions countless times and is relaxed and comfortable the whole time he's speaking or listening. An image of my step-father standing over me while I lie semi-conscious on the basement floor sticks in my mind as the conversation draws on. When he leers at me and bends down to unfasten my pants I snap back to reality. When they're both satisfied they've exhausted the topic, Charlie and Linda move past Dick and focus on me.

"So how's gymnastics training going, son?" Charlie asks me genially whilst finishing off his portion. I tried out for the school gymnastics team last week under Dick's encouragement. Somehow, I got in their reserve team thanks to the backflips Dick taught me over the last two weeks. Today was my first official training session with them. I got my ass kicked on physical conditioning but felt weirdly happy about it. Dick watched me from the bleachers with another injury, this time to his left foot. He thought I looked okay. I shrug.

"It's alright. It's pretty hard but I think I can do it. It just takes practice." Charlie nods in agreement, smiling with what must be pride as he does. My mind shows me a particularly nasty memory of crawling naked and bleeding round the backyard as my left arm hangs loosely by my side as I listen to his reply.

"That's exactly it boy; practice makes perfect. And I'm sure with someone as gifted in the sport as Dick to help you, you'll do just fine."

"Um, actually Mr. Devlin, I'm not a gymnast: I'm an acrobat. There is a difference." Dick corrects him amicably even though it's obvious from his facial expression he's a little offended by the labeling mistake. Charlie raises a hand in apology. In my mind, I see my mom finding me in the yard and saying nothing at all. It makes me shake, but no-one seems to notice.

"I do apologize Dick if I offended you just now; just goes to prove how limited my knowledge of that kind of stuff really is. What I meant to say was how nice it is to have someone helping Luke fit in with a school team; it's not the easiest thing for you to do, is it Luke?"

"Oh don't embarrass him, Charlie! I'm sure he doesn't want you telling Dick about his past experiences with teams." Linda chimes in to save my blushes. She thinks I like her now and is always being supportive of my activities. It's nice but also a big turnabout from what her opinion of me used to be. It makes me suspicious, but not the way I used to be. She's definitely NOT banging Charlie's best friend behind his back. I see that now.

The rest of the night goes quickly in a haze of movies and family-style board games, most of which Dick wins and I've never even heard of before. He plays a tactical game on everything that is so cerebral and perfect it's almost chilling to watch; Dick is seriously competitive and has all the tools to win, but is still good-natured enough to appease Charlie and Linda's egos. He's awfully good, I'll give him that. We're all having fun…I think. I can't concentrate anyway as my mind keeps flashing back to times and scenarios best left buried, particularly the midnight fights in Juvie organized by the more sadistic guards. But I digress. This is normality and again, I find it divides me in a way that it never used to before. I like being part of something like this and I don't like being near a situation as wholesome and safe as this at the same time; I swear if I don't decide what the fuck I want in the next week I will go properly to pieces over it all. The highlight reel just won't stop.

We go up to my room around eleven where Linda's made me up a proper mattress and duvet on the floor and changed the bed linen on the actual bed for Dick. I turn to him to ask him if he wants to do anything else before bed only to find him staring around the room with a stunned expression on his face. "Are you okay Dick?" I ask looking round the space to try and find the elephant in the room: everything is neat, clean and tidy.

"Where's all your stuff?" Dick replies whilst continuing to stare. I frown.

"My bed and bedside table are right there. My closet's over there…"

"No, I mean, where are your toys, books, comics, DVDs, games or your photos? Aside from the furniture the room's completely empty. Don't your foster parents buy you anything?"

When I regard the room again I see what he's talking about. All four walls of my room are bare and beige without a single trace of individuality or decoration to be found. My window sill is empty save for my closet key and, without my bed this room could be anything at all. I guess to someone like Dick, it probably looks like a guest room…or a prison cell. I suppose I'm so used to living like I don't exist that I never noticed it before. I recall the instant moment I was hit by another kid in Juvie and my lower jaw shattered as I nod my head.

"Yeah, they buy me whatever I want; I just don't want much is all." I used to just ask for clothes and pencils. I'd steal a vegetable knife from the kitchen and just sit up here fashioning shivs out of the blunt end of pencils for hours on end in the first few weeks. It was soothing to me in the same way listening to music is for other people. When I briefly open the drawer of my bedside table I count about thirty wooden shivs that have never even been used; I just like having them nearby. The flashbacks stop when I look at them lovingly. Dick doesn't see this. "If you want, we can always go back downstairs and sleep on the couches. At least then we can watch movies or play on Charlie's video games." I suggest only for Dick to shake his head.

"No it's cool. I guess I'm just a little more materialistic than I used to be. I just kind of don't know what you'd do up here all night without anything to entertain yourself with." I'm pretty sure most guys our age are jerking off like crazy since they accidentally discovered it one night by touching themselves and thinking dirty, but not me. I know how it works but I have no sexual desires of any sort. Yeah, I love Dick, but I don't want to fuck him or be fucked by him. When I think about him naked, I don't get a hard-on; I just like the way he looks with no clothes on. It's probably strange for a teenage boy to not be thinking about sex or touching himself, but after my step-dad tried to rape me I guess I lost my appetite. I shrug.

"I have my thoughts. Besides, I rarely spend any time here now; I'm usually out with you and the guys doing stuff."

"Yeah I guess that's true, but you gotta like coming back to your room afterwards. It's supposed to be like your personal space, somewhere you can go and relax. This feels like a prison cell." I smile at him, genuinely amused at his analogy. I'm quick to correct him.

"Believe me, prison cells are a lot nicer than this. My room in Juvie had a TV and en-suite bathroom. I get what you're saying though; I'll try to make an effort to dress it up in future." I say before gesturing to the bed, "Bed's yours. I'll camp on the floor." Dick looks surprised at my offer as if I'm being overly generous. I keep forgetting I've purposefully been hiding the more odd parts of my behaviour and am careful not to mention my need to sleep on the floor or bizarre mood swings. I see a baseball bat for a brief second before it hits me square in the face. I step back only to realize it wasn't real and was just another bad trip down memory lane. Dick doesn't notice me jump at my phantom tormentors.

"Are you sure?" He asks sounding somewhat touched by the gesture. I shrug.

"I don't mind roughing it for one night." Or six years for that matter; it's all relative to me.

"Thanks Luke."

I wake up three or four times in the night as my dreams turn decisively sour on me and then again when my injuries decide to repeat on me. I slip on my underwear and head downstairs to the medicine cabinet, not even looking at Dick on my way out. The pain's excruciating by the time I reach the bottom of the stairs but I'm nearly there when I freeze. There's someone sat on the couch watching TV. I turn on the living room light and find my eyes meeting Dick's when he turns his head to face me. Neither of us says anything for the longest time, but even when he opens his mouth to speak I have to go before my pain crushes me flat. I knock back the usual cocktail of pain killers and anti-inflammatories before collapsing on a breakfast bar stool and willing the pain to leave my body. I hear Dick move from the couch to the stool opposite me as I press my forehead against the tabletop.

"Does this happen a lot?" I hear him ask me.

"Once or twice a week. You have nightmares a lot?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your PJs are damp, must be from cold sweat unless you piss yourself regularly. Since I don't smell urine, naturally the conclusion is nightmares." I say through gritted teeth. I bang a fist against the table and wrench my head up like I remember doing so many times during my darkest years; it was my way of being defiant. I open my eyes to find him staring at me.

"You see an awful lot, don't you?" He says sounding a little anxious. I shake my head to placate him.

"I see what's there and what's familiar to me. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone anything. I think we can agree this is a low point for both of us right now."

"Luke…"

"Just give me a few minutes so the drugs can kick in please? It's hard to talk at the moment."

There's awkward silence for almost ten minutes until the drugs eventually numb me to the pain and I'm totally in control again. For the moment the flashbacks have stopped too. I nod at him to signal I'm okay. "So what were you about to say?"

"All this weird stuff that keeps going on with me? The disappearances and absences and detachment from the world in general? It's not Bruce's fault. He didn't cause any of it, okay?" I really don't care about finding the answer anymore. Bruce Wayne is the furthest thing from my mind at the moment. I just want Dick to be okay.

"What makes you think I was thinking about that in the first place? Look, if he didn't cause it, that's fine. I just don't like seeing you hurt or in pain is all. It's not a good look for someone like you. When I first met you, I sensed that we had something in common and I wanted to share it, but I really don't anymore. I'm fucked up for life, but you don't deserve to be, not the way you are. If something's really going badly, go talk to someone about it like a therapist or something." He looks reluctant to both my suggestion and continuing the conversation. I sigh.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Look, I think I worked out your big secret last week and I'd rather just continue thinking that and not learn the truth. Because if it's not what I think it is, you're in even worse shape than I thought." Truth is, I gave up looking for hard evidence and just went with the easiest fit for what I had. My solution makes sense, but it's totally flimsy and has only circumstantial evidence to back it up, nothing solid. But like I said I really don't give a fuck anymore. Dick does though; he looks intrigued and is actually leaning across the tabletop.

"Tell me what you think it is." He says expectantly. I blow out my cheek, shrug my shoulders and try not to sound like an absolute fantasist.

"You're Batman's partner, aren't you? You're Robin. If you are, everything fits and how you are is perfectly understandable given what that poor kid's been through. If you're not him then I can only guess you're getting seriously abused outside of the normal circles and that only ends in suicide…" I stop talking. I decide not to labor the obvious point I almost articulated and sit back. Dick's expression looks disappointed with my reply and I feel like we're about to move further apart rather than closer together in a second.

"And who do you think Batman is?" Dick inquires much to my surprise. I shrug.

"It's probably Bruce. It would make sense if you were Robin for him to be Batman, especially after that dinner we had. The money, the physique, the steely confidence and the tragic backstory all point to him being a masked vigilante." I answer much to my embarrassment; I probably sound like a lunatic right now reeling out this crap to someone I greatly respect. He smiles at me.

"That's some imagination you've got Luke. I'm actually kind of flattered you'd think that about me…and Bruce."

"Yeah well obviously I have too much time on my hands if I'm willing to agree with that scenario as being believable."

"And if I were to tell you it was true, what difference would it make to our friendship?"

"If it were true: none. I like you for who you are not for what you can do."

"People always say stuff like that. It's never true."

"Well I'm not people; I'm Luke Martin and I mean what I say because I am what I am."

"And what are you Luke?"

"I'm your friend. So do you have something to tell me or not?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: I have a good finish in mind now, one that will really show exactly who Luke is and what he actually cares about, but that's for later. This is for now. Enjoy.**

**Luke 8**

I wake up in a haze. I'm in a hospital bed hooked up to an I.V. and feeling so spacey that I must've been pumped with morphine. I don't remember much. I was talking to Dick downstairs and then we went back to bed. I had some pretty violent stomach cramps and then I blacked out. Now I'm here. I look around the room and see Charlie sat in the visitor's chair asleep. He looks restless and disheveled. I notice he's wearing pajamas underneath his windbreaker and wonder how long I've been lying here. I call out to him.

"Charlie?" He jolts back to consciousness and looks at me in utter bewilderment. Then he practically leaps out the chair and hugs me. I can't tell how tight he's doing it because my body feels like foam, but I guess it's pretty snug. I'm vaguely aware of him stroking my hair and kissing my forehead like it's some kind of miracle. "Did I nearly die or something?"

"Everything's alright now, boy." He tells me in a voice barely above a whisper, "Everything's alright now." Once he's had his fill of hugging me, the man composes himself and sits back down but is holding my hand in his. "Your appendix burst, Luke. We got you here as fast as we could and the doctors operated immediately. They reckon they got it all out and started you on antibiotics to clear out any infections. They said it was risky because they couldn't anesthetize you for the surgery if they wanted the best chance of saving your life. But you apparently didn't move or stir once during the whole thing. They checked your pulse four times to make sure you hadn't died because of it." Charlie says with a frown. "They also said that signs for appendicitis that acute should've been present for two or three weeks; have you been in pain at all and not told us?"

"I thought it was just one of my knife wounds playing up again. I didn't even know if I still had an appendix or not; I figured maybe they might've removed it on one of my other trips to the hospital. Is Linda not coming?"

"I sent her home to get some sleep; she's been here all day worried out of her mind." That's interesting. I let my eyes close for a few minutes; it feels nice and I feel dead.

"How long have I been out?" I ask finding my focus drifting to the sensation of Charlie's thumb stroking my hand. He's growing on me I think.

"Eighteen or nineteen hours. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay. Did Dick get home alright?"

"Mr. Pennyworth took him back about thirty minutes after we left for hospital. He wanted to come see you earlier, but the doctors said you weren't allowed visitors. He said he'd try to stop by tomorrow. I hope it's okay that I told him he could visit."

"It's cool." I say before managing to open my eyes again. Charlie's smiling at me in a way that I've seen before but never really understood. He really loves me and I don't get how that's possible. I haven't been all that great a foster kid for them and this kind of situation should only make it harder to stand my company, but not for Charlie. I kind of wish I could feel for him in the same way now, but there's still nothing. It's a shame. It's actually a shame. "Thanks for being here for me, Charlie."

I swim in and out of the room for the next day or so. Sometimes it's day and sometimes it's night but it makes little difference to me; all I know is I'm rapidly gaining my strength and lucidity back. By Sunday afternoon, I'm back on my feet. I'm still confined to the hospital grounds and it stings like crazy to move around, but I'm with it again. I haven't had pills blocking my violent tendencies in almost forty eight hours and already they're back like they never left. The flashbacks get beaten down by my rage and bloodlust overpowering them with raw imagery even more brutal and sadistic than anything my memories have got to throw at me. After days of feeling close to the edge and close to snapping inside under the pressure, I feel weirdly even and calm inside. I feel like I'm in control of everything I can be and that somehow I'm okay. My mind presents me with a clip show of the time my step-dad battered me with an iron in the kitchen, causing me to slip into a coma for two days; I beat it down with the image of a six-week old kitten having its eyes gouged out with sewing needles. The trauma backs off and I feel powerful again, lethal again.

Dick drops in as Linda and I are in the thick of a long-winded game of chess. It's strange to play such an intellectual game in a hospital, but satisfying at the same time. I'm not playing to win and have been stalling for Dick's arrival; if I wanted to I could trounce her because she plays like a seven-year-old. But I didn't and we managed to have a semi-decent conversation because of it. She told me that both she and Charlie want to formally adopt me as their own kid. When I asked her why, she didn't even hesitate in saying it was because they loved me. My short stint of being mostly normal and well-behaved has opened some pretty heavy doors with these people and apparently seems to suggest my acceptance, at least by Charlie and Linda, is complete. She says as soon as I'm back home, they'll start the paperwork to get legal guardianship. I don't really know how I accomplished this total change in her attitude but I'm glad I did; I like it, living at their house and having them look after me. I like being wanted even if I can't reciprocate the way they want me too. In my own way, I guess I must love them too. Even without my pills, I don't want hurt them or the cat anymore. When Dick announces himself, Linda makes an excuse and leaves us alone for a while.

"Jeez, you recover awful quick Luke." Dick says in amazement when I stand up and greet him.

"Hospitals are known for miracles. Thanks for saving my life."

"It would've been bad if I'd done anything else. I think I heard it pop." He says with a grimace. I stifle a laugh even though it's not meant as a joke and nod.

"I think I felt it pop. But I'm okay now. I didn't scare you too much, did I?"

"It freaked me out, but not as much as when I did some research about appendicitis. There's supposed to be pain, vomiting and fever as initial symptoms and it can go on for days before it ruptures; we had Gym as last period on Friday and you were running like there was nothing wrong and then like thirty minutes before it happened, we were talking in the kitchen. Just how high is your pain threshold? Just reading about inflamed appendixes made me queasy."

I've experienced so many different types and extremities of pain that I struggle to tell one form from another anymore. What I thought was a dull ache might have been an inflamed appendix or maybe the sharp tightness I felt was the appendix or the stabbing pain or the burning ache or any number of other things I've felt in the past few weeks. It's normal to me to feel some sort of pain in my body and it's normal to me to just ignore it. How high is my pain threshold? Who knows? My appendix bursting was the first time I've blacked out from trauma since I was ten so I guess it's pretty high. I shake my head.

"Well I'm fine Dick so don't worry about it. You want to play a game?" I say with a reassuring smile whilst indicating the chess board. Dick regards the current position of both colours' pieces for a few moments.

"Which colour do you like to play as?" He asks sitting down in Linda's seat.

"Black." I answer whilst lying back down on my bed to take stress back off my abdomen. I watch as he analyses the board for another minute. He moves the king to a safe square already knowing I've won. I move my queen forward and make the checkmate to end the game. He smiles at me.

"How long were you guys playing for just now?" Dick says reaching over the board to reset the pieces for both of us. I shrug.

"Something like forty minutes."

"She's not too good at chess huh?" He says. I smile back and make a 'what-can-you-do' gesture with my hands.

"She tries. Everyone likes a trier right?" Dick gifts me a grin that tells me he likes my sportsmanship. He knows I could've won a lot easier if I'd chosen to. I don't know how he knows that, but he does.

"I can see you do. It's nice that you let her get so close to winning. She made the fatal mistake three moves ago, right?" He's right. She moved her king into an inescapable trap that meant I could've moved any attacking piece and won. I bet he plays chess with Bruce and Alfred on a regular basis. I nod.

"Everyone makes mistakes, no big deal. Ready to play?"

The first twenty or so moves are heavy on positioning and minor on attack. Dick captures one of my pawns early but does not go further with the assault. We play in relaxed silence and appreciation of each other's talents. He's very good as I expected. My mind tries to distract me midway through a pivotal exchange by reminding me of the time my arm was forced against a burning stove and the flesh was seared into a pus-covered mess of full-thickness burns. I retort with an idea of slicing Bruce Wayne's ears off using nothing but a cheese grater and time until they're nothing but bloody and forlorn stumps. I win again and the exchange is evenly split with equal capture on both sides of a knight and bishop. Towards the sixtieth move, he makes his play for checkmate…and falls into my trap.

When his queen goes for my king, I stop him by eliminating the threat with a pawn. Before he realizes what's happening my queen is upon his king. Although my queen is taken by his knight, I checkmate him with my remaining bishop and end a very cerebral game with victory. Dick looks deflated by the loss but not broken up; he doesn't like to lose but at least he's not sore. He looks up at me and nods at my strategy.

"Well played." He says whilst leaning over the board to offer his hand. I shake it gingerly and return the compliment.

"Same to you. Everyone falls for that ploy, so don't feel too bad."

"Yeah but I have to; Bruce uses that all the time and I never see it coming." Dick grins at me, "He always plays as the black pieces too. I bet you guys would put on a hell of a show if you played each other." I hope I'm never strong-armed into a scenario like that. I don't like that man at the best of times but to test something as egotistical as my intellectual prowess against his would not end well. I briefly fantasize about embedding a chess piece through his eye and smashing the board into his mouth before answering Dick.

"I doubt I'm on his level." I say only for him to raise an eyebrow.

"You'd be surprised. How long until you're back at school?"

"Another week at least. I have to stay here for observation."

"That sucks. I can come by again next week if you like."

"I'd like that." Dick frowns after this reply before moving the table out the way and drawing his chair to the side of my bed. He drops the register of his voice dramatically before speaking.

"And about what I said to you on Friday night?" I nod.

"Yes?"

"You understand why it's important you don't tell anybody else?" I frown at him in confusion.

"Dick you didn't tell me anything. When I asked you if you did have anything to say, you said 'no'. I get you were joking about it before."

"Not that, the other thing…" I try scanning his face for clues first. When all I can identify is generic teenage angst I try my memory of the conversation. I skim over claiming he was a superhero and his guardian was THE superhero until I arrive at the tail end of it. He told me that he was still a virgin. I told him the same. He asked me if I ever felt confused and I said all the time without getting that he was talking only about sexuality. He said something else…what was it? Gordy Howe comes to mind but I'm not sure…right, got it. I stop staring into space and refocus on his eyes.

"The thing about you and Gordy frenching with each other after gym one time?" Dick flushes dark red, jerks his head frantically around the room to check if anybody else heard it and then responds in an even more restrained voice. It's funny and adorable at the same time.

"You want to say it louder? Yes, that; please don't tell anyone about it. I was curious and…"

"Dick, you don't have to worry. If you'd given each other a blowjob or something, that'd be pretty juicy stuff, but kissing? I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Really?"

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"Thanks Luke."

Dick stays a while longer and then leaves. I watch him cross the road from the window and get into the town car with the butler. Pennyworth glances up at the hospital after closing the rear door, seems to consider something and then disappears into the driver's side door. I still don't like him, especially if he's still wary of me when I'm weaker than a newborn lamb. I guess he's just worried that Dick's getting too close to me for his or Wayne's comfort. It's true that Dick hasn't told me anything, besides that embarrassing story with Gordy, but I'm far from stupid. He figures if he tells me something that devastating that I won't be interested in knowing anything else. But I know how teenagers work and how they try to outsmart other people with true confessions serving as smokescreens to hide the real issues beneath. I play the same games with therapists and professionals and I'm really good at it, but I know the truth. He IS Robin and Bruce IS Batman. He doesn't have to tell me straight for me to believe it's the truth.

I have to admit that I was embarrassed when I told him my theory, but only because the happy pills I was on made me think I was crazy. Without them clouding the razor's edge of my mind, I KNOW it's the truth. It's the truth because it fits and because I know it fits. Dick's scars and issues are from a battleground, not a playground or a bully or a broken home. He's Bruce's little soldier boy while the man himself is commander and general. I guess how this situation came about and just how extremely trained Dick is, but I don't have to wonder anymore. I know the secret and I know why I find Dick interesting and why I love him. There's only one real question left to ask myself…

What do I do now?


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Less on Dick, more on Luke is the maxim of this chapter. What Luke intends to do with his acquired information will be revealed in the next chapter. Enjoy.**

**Luke 9**

It's been two weeks since I was admitted to hospital with a burst appendix. Whatever the doctors put me on cancelled out the chance of infection and now all that's left of my ordeal is a tiny scar on my stomach. To be fair, it goes nicely with the rest of my mementos and is definitely the prettiest out of them all. I was discharged two days ago and just as promised Linda and Charlie started the paperwork to formally adopt me. Today I went back to school and was treated with kid gloves by all the teachers which I hated. They were all nice and accommodating and understanding…and covering their asses with fake concern. Because I've acted like I did when I was on the pills for almost a fortnight, Charlie has been slipping me placebos in an attempt to try and maintain what he thinks is a personality change. He thinks I don't know the difference between them, but I do.

I can't live without my violent urges and keep my sanity. I can't take the pills and feel safe inside my own head, not without the violence to defend me. This way of existing, the way that I have been since I was young, works for me. I have balance and stability this way I don't have any other. Sure I don't love people the same way as I'm expected to, but living with Charlie and Linda has shown me that I can change the way I view certain people. I used to think Linda was a whore and Charlie was a condescending asshole, but I don't think of them like that anymore. Now I think Linda is a very patient and understanding person and Charlie is just an amazing dad, one any kid would be lucky to have. I'm almost glad they want to be my parents, because I can stand to be around them. I still hate and loathe most people, but not them. I guess I actually like them and…maybe, in some sense, I love them too? Why not? I love Charlie and Linda too. And my violence. I love my violence too.

Dick was off sick again today, probably nursing some crime-fighting related injury with Alfred while Wayne goes to work. I don't mind anymore. He came to visit me five or six times in hospital and always stayed until they kicked him out. He's a real friend and I understand he's got commitments and secrets to keep. Even without him there, I get through the day without causing any dramas. I sit with Gordy and his jock buddies at lunch, smiling to myself at the idea of him and Dick making out behind the bleachers, impress my biology teacher with further proof of my dissection skills on a frog and enjoy walking to Charlie's work with a girl from my Geography class. Her name's Ellie and she's kind of into me although I don't know why.

Ellie is a typical example of a good student: quiet, smart and really well-spoken. She's in the debate team and runs a fashion club afterschool that's apparently popular with cheerleaders and other 'good' girls. I don't know how you'd describe her physically. She's not ugly, average or beautiful but probably leans towards above average if anything else with light brown hair and green eyes. Despite being quiet, she's not frigid and has already had a couple of boyfriends, neither of which look remotely like me. I don't normally remember people in that much detail, mostly because I don't care enough to try, but she always makes an effort to talk to me or be nice to me and I'm always impressed so I always remember her.

She wants to come over to my house after school. I go to say no only to change my mind. When I got back from hospital, I got Charlie to take me shopping and then spent the rest of the day decorating my bedroom to reflect my personality. I guess I should try it out on someone other than Linda who thinks it suits me nicely. If Dick can't see it today, I'll make do with Ellie's opinion. So I say she can come over.

Charlie fusses over her first and then Linda follows suit when we all come home. They seem both relieved and happy that I brought a girl back for dinner but I decide not to take it personally, another change in my personality. Introductions are made and then Ellie and I head up to my room to do homework assignments. Her reaction to stepping in my room is almost identical to Dick's, but for the complete opposite reason.

All four walls are no longer the same generic beige but individually painted with one colour each: black, white, red and blue. Framed posters of the front covers of best-selling books by J.D. Salinger, D.H. Lawrence and William Golding hang on the wall above my bed while mahogany shelves on the other walls hold the books themselves and various other trinkets. There's now a mahogany computer desk underneath the window with a swivel lamp, second-hand laptop and a framed photograph of Charlie, Linda, me and the cat on the desktop. Both the curtains and my bedding are covered in stars of the same colours as the walls while the empty storage space underneath my bed is now cluttered with board games, athletics and sports equipment and boxes of DVDs. On the wall nearest the door, there's a gap between two sets of shelves just wide enough to accommodate a wall-mounted flat-screen TV with an in-built DVD player.

How can Charlie afford all this stuff so quickly? According to him, he's wanted to do something like this since before I arrived and had already budgeted for it, but since he needed some of that cash to foot my hospital bill, the man went to his back-up plan: friends, favours and bargains. The man is gifted at making the most out of nothing. He mounted and hung the posters himself, the same with the TV and the shelves. He got the desk, my laptop and swivel lamp as part of a garage sale and got the TV from a friend who owed him a favour. My bedding and curtains was actually his as a kid and the paint was leftover from when he and Linda decorated the house six years ago. I appreciate the effort more than he knows. I appreciate him more than he knows.

"Wow. This is just…so tasteful Luke. Did you design it all yourself?" Ellie says with genuine astonishment at the décor while sitting on my bed. I nod.

"I designed it, but Charlie was the one who financed and built it for me. So, you really like it?" I ask sitting at my desk. She nods.

"It's different from other boy's rooms I've been in. They're always untidy and dirty and, even when they're not, they smell. But this is really nice and it smells like some kind of Yankee Candle."

"Uh, that's because it is: it's Black Coconut and it's over there." I tell her with a little sheepish grin whilst pointing to the large black candle smouldering on one of my shelves. She sees it and smiles too.

"That's a little girly of you…but kind of cute too."

That's how I got my foot in the door with her. We spend the next hour doing our Geography homework and talking weirdly about fashion. According to her, I'm really fashionable for a boy and that apparently everybody at school who doesn't know me thinks I'm gay. That was unexpected I guess, but with the way I'm attached to Dick, it might be true. I'm actually so interested in what she's saying about my status and reputation at school that I forget to either have a flashback or conjure a violent image to counter it. Ellie doesn't get my typical fantasy treatment of decapitation or disembowelment because she's distracting. Distracting is good for me. Then the cat wanders in to distract me further. It meows at me as I sit talking with her on the bed before jumping up and claiming my lap as its own personal observation tower.

"Oh he's beautiful. It is a boy right?" Ellie asks cautiously stroking it on the head. I nod before stroking the cat myself. It begins to purr already.

"Yep. His name's Felix and he's a Maine Coon. That's why he's so big."

We sit and talk and stroke the cat until dinner. I don't think about anything other than her and how well I'm doing until we're sat at the table eating Linda's meatballs and pasta. For a couple of minutes, I go back to when my step-dad threw bricks at me while I ran screaming around the inside of the garage, but quash it with ideas of hanging random people by their large intestines from barns. I briefly consider the method of achieving this goal and the type of knife before centering myself and rejoining the conversation. Like when Dick came over, Charlie and Linda move the conversation forward and dictate the topics without any awkwardness or uncomfortable pauses. They ask Ellie about her parents, what they do and what her hobbies are. When she politely tells them of her interest in classic literature, fashion design and the idea of teaching as a career, both Charlie and Linda are quick to include me, apparently having picked up on my book collection and taste in clothes.

I've never had people notice my interests before; they only tend to see a psychopath or seriously disturbed kid and concentrate on that as my soul defining characteristic. That's why I despise doctors and therapists and counselors because they don't try to get to know me; they just assume I'm devoid of personality because my head's so full of personality defects. Leave it up to Charlie and Linda to notice I'm a person and not just a head case. It's just another reason I can stand them. It's just another reason I keep thinking I love them.

The rest of Ellie's stay is good and Charlie drops her off at her parents' house on the promise that she can come back whenever she likes. Ellie wants to come over again. According to her, I'm sweet, interesting and very surprising. I don't know about sweet, but I'd agree with the rest; I surprised myself with how comfortable I was around her. I don't know how I got this far this quickly, but I'm glad I did; things are actually going well. I'm in my room later when Charlie comes knocking.

"So, you had a productive first day back, huh boy?" The man says with a sly grin as he sits on my bed while I work at the desk. "That girl Ellie is a very mature young lady, isn't she?" He adds. I nod my head.

"She's nice. I like her."

"Yeah? Well, I guess it's no surprise to hear she likes you too. You guys seem to have…really good chemistry. It's good to see." I roll my eyes at the way he's hinting at bigger things. I have to smile though. He's a good guy.

"Trying to marry us off, Charlie?"

"Hey now! I'm not the sort of man to interfere in another man's love life, but it might be worth a shot. That's all I'm saying." I shrug my shoulders and reward him for trying by giving him something more.

"I don't know. She thought I was gay."

"Are you?" He asks. I frown at him.

"Why?"

"Because I never thought to ask you before. I don't give a damn either way of course, but I am interested in what'll make you happy." Charlie means what he says and because of that and because he's trying so hard to engage me, I almost go all out.

"I don't know yet. I really don't know. The way I feel about Dick…" I stop myself for saying anymore. I almost forgot I was speaking out loud for a minute. Charlie's looking expectant and very hopeful right now; maybe he thinks he's making a breakthrough with me and our relationship. I dial back and shake my head. "Sorry, I can't say anymore." Charlie puts a big hand on the back of my neck and rubs it briefly.

"It's alright, son. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. But if you ever feel like talking…and I mean about anything, I'm always here for you. Understand? That goes for Linda too." What he says doesn't rub me up the wrong way, but it does exasperate me enough to tell him how I see things between us.

"Look, I'm not trying to sound rude or ungrateful or anything like that, Charlie, but I don't think you're the right guy to tell about my problems; they're pretty gruesome and probably not fit for hearing in any case. I'd rather you never know about them. I like it here and I want to stay here; if I told you, I don't think you'd want to keep me." For a moment Charlie doesn't say or do anything. Then he puts his hand back on the nape of my neck and squeezes it softly.

"You're wrong boy, very wrong. What do you think the foster people have been telling us for the past couple of days? They're telling us not to go through with it and they're dredging up all kinds of nasty stories and reports to try and sway us. Personally, I think it's fucking dumb if they want rid of you, but it hasn't changed mine and Linda's feelings on the issue: we want to adopt you. We love you just because a kid who's been through the ringer as much as you have and still be civilized is a keeper. You don't deserve to be thrown out because your step-dad was a monster and tried to make you the same. It's not fair and it's not right."

"But I can never love you guys the way you want me to." I tell him honestly. Charlie smiles and shrugs his shoulders.

"So love us any way you can. We'll make up the shortage. We just want you to be happy." It's something to say out loud. It means a lot. I close my eyes and feel his fingers delicate massaging the flesh on my neck. No-one's ever touched my neck like this unless it was a prelude to strangling me. I push that idea aside and open my eyes. Charlie's just nodding at me as if he understands it's difficult for me to say anything back or do anything back for that matter. "Do you want a hug Luke?" He asks me, something I have to consider for an awfully long time before answering.

"I don't think I need one Charlie." I stop and think for a moment. "Do you need one?" I ask. Charlie smiles at me and shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't need one Luke, but I'd like one just the same. What do you say?"

I've never hugged anybody before, not that I remember. I've been hugged, a few times at least, but I've never given anybody a hug. With the way I am, why would I ever need to? Until now, the idea to hug anyone had never even crossed my mind. I equate giving a hug with a desire to crush the recipient's ribcage, like I experienced more times than I want to admit, and it's only recently that I've warmed to being hugged at all. Charlie looks even more expectant than usual, excited even by the idea, and I don't want to disappoint him by being shit at dishing them out. But I guess I've come too far to back out now. I nod my head.

"Okay." I stand up and then stoop down to Charlie's chest. I feel stiff and awkward as I move forward and press my chest against his, but amazingly I don't stop trying. I manage to rest my chin on his shoulder and then gingerly wrap my arms round his back, holding him as loosely as possible. I consider this position as finished, but I'm not all that sure. Before I can ask him if I've got the mechanics right or have missed a step, he wraps his arms around my back like he has before and holds me a hell of a lot tighter than I'm holding him.

"You alright son? It's not too tight is it?" He says slackening his grip a little. I shake my head.

"No, it's nice."

My name is Luke Martin and today, I thought about Dick Grayson twice…

The rest of the time, I thought about how good my life is becoming. That's got to be a good sign.


End file.
